Our Legacy
by everyone'ssister
Summary: Tag for 12.18, The Memory Remains. With the missing photograph causing a rift between the brothers while working a new case how long before Dean succumbs to his injures he's been ignoring? Will Sam be fast enough to save him this time? hurt!Dean protective!Sam
1. Part 1

OUR LEGACY

Part 1.

 _Our mark_. Dean says with the purple bruise blooming over the side of his face, his ever expressive eyes glistening in the lights. And Sam tilts his head to the side and smiles at him as he does the same. The eternal mark of their names together...on their hearts, on the impala...now in their home.

And the look of purely relaxed happiness softening Dean's eyes and the lines of his face nearly dazzle Sam. The lamp light shadowing his features and softening them, the contented smile in his face, turns to something more as he glances to Sam. Little brother, partner, friend...everything. Adoration, worship. And Sam is so humbled by it.

God, Dean's beautiful.

And he doesn't mean it weird, doesn't even mean physically, he just can't help noticing what relaxed and happy does for his older brother but it's what is escaping from his soul and shining out through his eyes that hits Sam like a punch in the stomach.

Dean comes home from a hunt where he sacrificed his life and safety to save other people's lives, other people's lives that had been much worse, and much much more meaningless than Dean's. He puts their lives before his without a second thought...and he thinks they deserve long life better than him.

As he hands Sam a beer, he wonders nonchalantly if anyone will remember them, what they do... _will anyone remember that we gave our lives for them, Sammy?_ And when Sam answers honestly, _no_ , he doesn't bat an eye, it doesn't bother him. He looks around the bunker and looks peacefully happy and sad at the same time.

He wonders what will happen to the bunker...and Sam knows him. He's not sad about the world forgetting them, or about the people they saved forgetting them...he's sad thinking of the possibilities that the bunker might forget them. That they'd disappear from its walls without a trace and that no one would know...no one would know that it was a home. _Their home._

That it meant something to someone. That Dean had done the impossible there, that he'd had what he thought he'd never have, done what he'd never thought he'd do...made a home. He'd given Sammy a home...a home he loved, a home he wanted.

And all those little moments, the pillow fights, the dirty socks arguments, the drinking contests, the blood stains in the bathroom, the Christmas decorations pushed into storage (a denial that Sam and Dean had used them at all) and the nameless photographs that strangers wouldn't recognize. The pictures that Sam had spread before Dean when he'd lost all hope and purpose and called him back...all those little moments meant something...some of them had changed the outcome of the world and some of them had only changed Dean's world but Dean wanted them. Dean wanted them to stay theirs.

So he pulls out his pocket knife and he etches his initials there in the table. Not even his whole name. Just a modest D.W. Doesn't even allow himself that much space or acknowledgement in their own home. But tears sting Sam's eyes as his brother smiles and hands him the knife...the little Dean does allow himself he wants Sam to take with him.

So the two men who have saved the world time and time over leave their mark. They leave it in about four inches of space in the obscure description of "D.W. S.W." And that's that. Big brother, little brother...Winchesters. Saving people, hunting things; the family business.

And that's why Sam decides his older brother is just a touch stunning. The purest light pouring from his soul inviting Sam to live this dangerous, redeeming life with him...he smiles at Sam after the younger brother etches his name and its Dean's contented happiness that wraps them up safe and warm in this moment.

It reflects the simplicity, the sincerity and the sacredness that makes up Dean's very soul, the bright light that had drawn legions of angels to him, inviting Sam in as an equal...as something Dean needs to survive. And that's huge, that fills Sam up to the bursting point to be needed like that...to be wanted like that for himself. Sam looks away to hide his eyes and the happy tears there...god Dean's beautiful

Dean's fingers drift over the small furrows in the wood and he carries on like nothing happened at all as he tells Sam about Ketch's bike and it's undependability. Pretends like he hadn't just initiated the biggest chick flick moment they'd had in years. And they ease the nervous feeling from each other's guts with Ketch's comments about hunting with their mom because there's nothing they can do about it. Sam heads Dean off at one beer, can tell from the way he's squinting in the low lighting that his head hurts like a bitch.

"You better stop there if you want some pain meds before bed." He says easily, as Dean sends him a glare form the mini fridge. "Don't gimme that sour look." He says laughing, "Pretty sure you're a little out of it after that chick flick moment."

Dean frowns and looks down, rubbing at his temples like 'yeah, you're right Sammy.' He sits down again resting his chin on his arms folded on the table, green eyes bright in the light. And Sam can see that slightly 'not all there' gleam in them, concussion Dean could be cute, funny, exasperating or just honestly heart breaking...Sam wonders which one he'll get tonight.

"Who names their monster Black Bill anyway?" He asks, giving a snorting laugh.

And Sam laughs with him, still nursing his first beer, "I know right, kind of lame."

Dean shakes his head, just the small motion making him swallow thickly. "I mean of all the things you could name a scary ass monster..."

Sam sends him a mischievous look, "Your's would be...get ready for it...'The Burger Burglar'." He announces with a flourish of his hands and Dean snorts unimpressed.

"And yours would be 'Bed Head'." He retorts without missing a beat. Their laughs filling the bunker, surrounding them with warmth and security.

Dean sighs into his arms and lets his eyes slide shut with the dying huffs of his laughter but he cracks one back open when Sam kicks him under the table.

"Wha?" He grunts tiredly.

"C'mon," Sam urges rising and tugging on the back of Dean's chair. "Definitely time for you to hit the sack."

Dean doesn't object, lets Sam pull his chair back as he stands and yawns into his elbow. He heads towards his room of his own accord and Sam switches the lights off before following. He steps into Dean's room behind his brother and grins as Dean groans, leaning to untie his boots, shucking off his jacket and button up carelessly tossing them to the floor.

That let Sam know just how tired Dean was and just how much his head hurt.

Dean crawls up his mattress and flops down, sighing when his head hits the pillow. Sam comes out of the bathroom with a whiskey glass half full of water and three aspirin in the palm of his hand. Raising an eyebrow at Dean who huffs and props himself up on an elbow to take the medicine.

"Don't be such a baby." Sam insults fondly as Dean shoots him a dour look before curling up on his side in his jeans and socks and dragging the blanket off the opposite corner of the bed to cover himself. Sam just shakes his head, the grumpiness to be expected from a hurting Dean who was part ways out of it.

He curses under his breath as he trips over Dean's shirts and boots and hears his older brother laughing on his way out the door. "Good night, you ass." He says softly just after he switches off the light.

"Night lil' brother," is whispered after him before Dean goes still and quiet and the little brother has a feeling he's peacefully asleep before Sam even gets to his own room.

...

When Dean wakes up, its to pain. He's sore and stiff as a log, feels like he's been beaten with concrete blocks. He groans as he rolls over to grab his phone off the bedside table and find the time. 8:30, Sam was already long up and at 'em. He runs hands down his face and swings his legs off the side of the bed.

He's still a little dizzy as he sits up, stands to go to the bathroom and nearly breaks his neck tripping over his boots. Karma was a quick bitch, he thinks as he vaguely remembers laughing at Sam the night before who'd done the same thing. He shakes his head and splashes his face with cold water, running wet fingers through dark, reddish brown spikes of hair on top of his head.

He sends himself a cocky grin and heads out to face this day, only he rolls his eyes at himself knowing it's going to suck with how sore he is.

He stops in his room walking to the other side of the bed thinking of the full gun-cleaning inventory he'd been doing and the one he'd left in the drawer of the opposite bedside table. He grins as he opens the drawer, grabs the gun and a butterscotch he'd left there for times of need and shuts it again.

The elder Winchester freezes.

Something was off, something set him off, many years of mistakes had taught him to listen to his own instincts. Dean's face changes all together, the hard lines setting in and giving him a dangerous look. He slides the drawer back open and with quick, efficient fingers he flips through his pictures searching for the one...the one most precious to him.

"Dammit," he swears under his breath, his mood immediately souring. "Sam..." he mutters headed towards the kitchen. It was one thing to steal his socks and stretch them out on his gigantor feet, or leave nasty things like apple cider vinegar water sitting around the kitchen smelling the place up but taking his personal stuff...the important stuff...that was too far.

The younger Winchester looks up when his brother finally makes an appearance, holds up his steaming coffee cup to show Dean there was a fresh pot, watches him carefully to see how sore he is. "Dude, good morning...finally. Found us a case." He waits taking in Dean...immediately aware something is off. The tight set of his shoulders, the impassive look on his face...it hits Sam like a punch in the gut.

"Why are you pissed at me for?" He asks hotly, the silent treatment he's getting making him prickle, he hadn't even seen Dean this morning, let alone do anything to piss him off.

Dean shoots him a withering glare, and stands leaning against the counter holding a steaming cup of coffee in hand. "I want the picture back Sam." He says lowly, his eyes cold but burning at the same time and Sam shivers even in his innocence. "You could've just asked, I'd have let you see it."

"Dean," Sam states, annoyed at the accusation. "I didn't take your anything, you must've moved it and forgot, which picture?."

Dean nearly growls at his little brother in frustration, "The one of me and mom! I didn't move it Sam, I know you took it your the only other person in this damned bunker."

Sam snorts, "Don't even try the whole pissed off growlly Dean Winchester thing with me..." Dean looks affronted. "So unless our house goblin took it, you lost your own picture Dean cause your the only who touches it...oh wait, we don't have a house goblin...now are we gonna talk about the case like adults or are you gonna posture some more?"

Sam's words cut deeper than Dean expected. He could at least be a little sensitive that he'd stolen Dean's most prized possession and not joke about it to his face, mock him. "Sam," he says slowly, "Give it back."

Sam inwardly winces at the hurt look flashing over his brother's face, but the accusation stings. "No." Sam shoots back, "Because I didn't take it."

"Screw you Winchester." Dean bites out as he heads to the door, a middle finger over one shoulder.

"Right back at you." Sam says, sighing in frustration, "What about the case?!" He yells after his older brother.

"Meet me in the car in twenty." Floats back to Sam through the hallways and the echo doesn't cover the pissed off tone still there...and sounding like it's not going anywhere any time soon.

Great. Great. Great.

Sam sighs, hitting himself in the forehead with his iPad. So not the way to diffuse a 'Dean' situation. This hunt was going to be a lot of fun.

Not.

...tbc

Ready to have some fun on this two week break!? Review!?

(I am aware this isn't the direction the show is probably going to go but I just really want some drama and hurt Dean, so here we go again!)

(That scene with the boys carving their names hit me so damn hard. Nothing has got me that good since like...season 9 finale, season 10? Idk but it's been awhile. It reminded me the reason I watch SPN. Reminded me of the epicness and the greatness and sincere love of the boys just like I needed...in short I think I refell in love with those two. Best episode since 'Baby' in my opinion. How about you guys?;))


	2. Part 2

Part 2.

Sam hates himself. He and Dean were the kings of self loathing but Sam really means it, he hates himself. He hates who he is, he hates what he's done, he hates what he'll do even though he knows it's necessary. He hates that he's hurt people, that he hasn't been able to save _every single person ever_ , but that hate doesn't hold a candle to the hatred he feels towards himself when he hurts Dean.

He'd kill, he'd hurt people, he'd hunt alone for a thousand years...he'd let the Darkness and Lucifer out over and over again if he could take back all the hurt he'd caused Dean. So Sam hates himself as Dean's face changes into stone, his body language taking the defensive, and Sam swears to himself that he'll cut his tongue out at the earliest convenience.

His heart is heavy as he throws a couple essentials into his duffle and can hear Dean banging around in his room, probably his way of expressing his anger without getting physical. Sam's mouth is a frowning line as he thinks of Dean's missing picture; where could it have gone? Dean's right, Sam knows his brother would have never lost that particular photograph, wouldn't have misplaced it for a moment's time.

He sighs grabbing his bag and swinging it over his shoulder while running a hand through his hair trying to figure out how to convince Dean he hadn't taken the picture. Now he had to figure out a way to soothe over Dean's sore heart too, and to get back in his good graces.

Sam might be a hardass, badass and deadly killer, he could wait to get his point across with time, words or violence, but generally when it came to Dean the younger Winchester was a push over. He thrived on Dean's love, companionship and approval and when they were at odds his very soul ached with the distance between them no matter how small.

iPad under one arm, he fills their carafes with coffee and grabs a packet of his own personally saved and stashed pop tarts for Dean. He wanders towards the garage peeking into his older sibling's room first, finds it dark and empty so Sam figures Dean must be ready. He shuts the heavy iron door behind him, locks it and finds Dean waiting in the car his expression not having improved any.

Sam sighs before he hauls open his door and then folds himself into the passenger seat. Dean starts up Baby, Sam sighing at his stony face. Once on the road Sam forces himself to relax, tosses his duffle in the backseat and sets his coffee between his legs, hands Dean his. Is surprised when his brother accepts it.

"Here," he says quietly, offering Dean the pop tarts, like he's scared Dean's going to explode. "You didn't eat."

Dean looks at the pack in Sam's hand outstretched to him and for a moment his face softens and Sam inwardly jumps with joy. Then Dean shifts his shoulders away from Sam and towards his window, looks away, his mouth pressing into a line. And Sam sighs, leaving the pop tart on the seat by Dean's thigh.

"The hell you giving me food for?" Dean spits out, like he can't even stop himself. "You can't seriously think food is gonna cut it as a peace offering after you STOLE MY picture AND won't give it back let alone 'fess up to it!"

Sam thistles under the hurtful, undeserved words but tries to keep himself calm.

"Dean..." he says slowly, "I didn't take the picture, I told you and I'll tell you again and again. I don't know what happened to it, or even what could have happened to it but I didn't touch it, hell, I didn't so much as look at it."

Dean is silent and Sam can tell Dean doesn't believe him. That stings.

"Tell me about the case." Dean nearly grunts, deep, gravelly voice grating over Sam's heart with the sullen hostility in it. Sam takes a huge breath before turning on the iPad.

"Uhm, Sam starts, clearing his voice, "In El Jebel, Colorado a girl committed suicide in her home last week, which in and of itself isn't anything alarming..."

"...other than the fact she killed herself." Dean snarks.

Sam snorts, "Yeah. But family and friends say she was a fairly normal teenager, happy, lots of friends, popular. And get this, sister said the room was cold, I'm talking subzero, when she found her sibling hanging from the ceiling fan."

Dean grimaces at that description but shrugs, "Could be nothing."

Sam sighs, because it wasn't a friendly 'could be nothing' it was a 'I'm criticizing your research to piss you off' could be nothing. Sam doesn't go for the bait, only sends Dean a disapproving look with puppy dog eyes, _I'm not fighting with you, I'm not guilty. Please...don't let something this trivial tear us apart right now_.

Because sibling cases were always hard on them, always filled them with familiar forebodings and terrors. Especially suicides...suicides were the worst. Because when times got bad there was always that niggling worry in the back of both their minds. Sam and Dean were violent men, had grown up violent...death didn't scare them, pain didn't scare them. It was the complete disregard they had for themselves that set the brothers on edge for each other.

If they cared so little about their own selves that they feared what the other would do to himself if left alone. And it was a wise fear, it was completely plausible, completely likely that one day...Sam tries not to think of it.

Dean turns away from Sam's pleading look, leans his arm against his door and settles in to drive in silence. Sam does the same, allowing himself to chew nervously on his fingernails. El Jebel was closer than most places they hunted but still it was going to be a long drive with Dean giving him the silent treatment.

His heart is a dull ache in his chest at the turn of events. He's used to brother quarrels by now but he's not a fool, he knows this is bigger, this is badder, he has no way to convince his brother he hadn't taken the picture. And Dean wouldn't easily forget this, Dean wouldn't let it go. Not it a million years.

For the first time in a while Sam looks into the near future of their relationship with trepidation...he may be screwed. And their relationship as brothers translated into his whole world.

...

It's dark when they get into El Jebel, a small, and by small Sam means eeny meeny, town outside Aspen, Colorado. Dean had been quiet almost the entire drive, only stopping twice for gas and bathroom breaks. He and Sam snacking on nabs and cokes from the gas stations, filling the long gaps of time with music...music that Sam hated more so than usual. The shield and security blanket for Dean when he didn't want to talk or when he wanted Sam to know he was getting the cold shoulder.

Sam tries to not let it bother him, he fails.

His brother pulls into a hotel parking lot, since they have yet to spot any seedier looking motels. They both sigh, looking up the five storied building. They hated staying on any floor that wasn't ground level. Escapes were too risky anywhere else, too obscure. Stairs and elevators were death traps, and being on elevated floors made windows a no go for an exit route.

"I'll see if they have any rooms on the first floor," Sam mumbles, the day had been too hard, had told on his nerves too much, he retreats into the hotel with his tail in between his legs. Maybe Dean would get some satisfaction and leave him alone, or he'd see that Sam didn't have the fricking picture!

He huffs in frustration just thinking of his brother as the receptionist hands him their key. His head jerks up lightening fast as he hears the impala's engine rev and watches with wide eyes as Baby speeds past the glass door and turns out onto the road. He swallows thickly around the ball of pain in his throat.

A text beeps in on his phone and Sam wonders he doesn't break it he grips it so hard.

 _Going to get supper, text me the room number_

Sam just shakes his head and does as Dean demands, turning his phone off afterwards and leaning against the door of their room after he shuts it behind him. Lets himself close his eyes ending the way they've been burning for lack of sleep and stress of reading too much too late at night.

He tries not to think of Dean alone, wrapped up in his hurt and anger at Sam, tries not to think about to much because Sam's the one getting unjustly treated here, for god's sake, he hadn't even done anything wrong! But he knows his brother, can feel the misery radiating off Dean, even here alone with his brother miles away. Can feel the unrest and unhappiness there, can only imagine how much more potent the hurt is with Dean thinking that Sam has caused it.

"Why?" Sam asks out loud. _Why does everything always have to go wrong for us?_

...

Dean stands waiting for his order, leaning against the counter in the diner he'd chosen. Salad and chicken sandwich for Sam, burger and fries for himself...run of the mill, everyday stuff. Dean's heart rebels at it though. The hurt, confusion and angry rankling in his chest like an infection.

He doesn't understand why...why after everything Sam felt like he needed to steal the picture and most of all why he wouldn't give back or just tell Dean why? Sam was the talker, he was the mediator...he was the smart one. Dean's not even remotely sure how to deal with this type of behavior from his younger sibling.

On top of that his body aches, his head throbbing. He's starting think he might be a little more than sore. Shudders remembering that sickening falling sensation, his body weightless and powerless as the man behind Black Bill pushed him over that bannister and he plummeted towards the floor. Even now he shifts on his feet to change the distribution of his weight, the pain intensifying the longer he allows strain on his muscles.

Dean accepts their food with a sad smile and gets back in the car stiffly. Sighing with relief as he sinks into Baby's familiar leather seats. Cranks her up and heads back the way he came feeling so low with the answering text from Sam.

 _Room_ _#13. If I find the picture for you will you believe I didn't take it?_

He feels bad for a moment and then he shakes his head, remembering, feeling the absence of Sam's usual truthfulness and trustworthiness. Feels the absence of that picture in his wallet on a hunt like he's missing an actually person. It was Dean's lucky charm, the thing he prayed upon...the thing, when Sam wasn't there, he relied upon to give him sanity and strength.

He doesn't respond to Sam, discards his phone on the seat beside him and drives in moody companionship with his dark thoughts all the way to the hotel. He knocks on the door, and Sam lets him in without meeting his eyes. Dean feels like a piece of shit.

Sam takes the food and places the two take out plates on the table across from each other. Dean sits, tosses Sam his packet of a fork and knife as he opens up his own plate and inhales the steam that arises. Sam grins watching him, that playful look in his eyes that gives them a mischievous light, but Dean pretends not to notice, is doing his best to ignore his younger brother and his winning ways. Dang, when had Sam learned to play him so well?

"I'll dig into the history of the house," Sam mumbles through a full mouth. "Morgue in the morning?"

"Yeah," Dean grunts through a mouthwatering bite of burger that tastes like ash on his tongue.

Sam wolfs down his food and Dean feels guilty, knowing his gigantic brother needed more over the course of an entire day than a couple packs of nabs. He drinks down his plastic cup of iced water in one breath, looking for the world like it's the best thing he's ever tasted as he does it and Dean grimaces; weird kid. (Water doesn't even taste like anything kind Dean's opinion.)

"Want the first shower," Sam asks, standing to throw his plate away and Dean ignores the one millionth attempt at making peace, shaking his head motioning for Sam to go ahead. He feels his little brother's heavy gaze on his back as he heads to the shower, for the first time in a while Dean's relieved to have a door between them.

Dean doesn't move while Sam's gone, listens to the water pattering on the shower the floor, sounds of Sam shifting under the spray...his little brother...it wasn't like Sam to do something like this at all. Which made the thievery of his photograph even more hurtful. Because it had been unexpected, Dean hadn't had his defenses up and ready for this kind of betrayal. The confused ache in his chest almost takes his breath away.

He rubs a rough hand down his face, leaves it over his eyes as he leans his elbow on the table. His eyes burn the same way he knows Sam's are, the redness of them aren't lost on Dean. He's mad at Sam not hateful, not uncaring. Something like this can't undo the love and instincts to protect of thirty-four dangerous and sweet years, long years...but no where near long enough.

He wracks his mind for ways the picture could have gone missing without Sam taking it. But the more he thinks the more it hurts, the more that betrayed sting sharpens and finally as he hears the shower turn off Dean rises, pacing angrily, waiting for his turn in the bathroom.

As Sam comes from the bathroom he's awarded with another one of those soul crushing hopeful hurting smiles of his littler brother's, and he shuts the door behind him quickly, closing him out. Because that fact that Sam was hurting too didn't soothe him, didn't give him satisfaction, it just makes everything hurt more.

By the time Dean's done trying to wash all his emotions off with the scalding hot water of his shower it's late. He pulls on some sweats and socks and a warm pullover, runs fingers through the wet spikes of his hair and opens the door.

The bathroom light is bright shining into the darkened room, and he's thankful to see Sam already in bed, lying on his side facing towards Dean's bed. He turns off the light and pads quietly over to his bed, dropping his phone onto the bedside table after plugging it up to charge.

He's about to drop his wallet into his duffle lying the floor beside his bed when the street light catches it through the blinds. He heart sinks when he thinks about what's not in it. _Where's the harm?_ He asks himself, as he flicks it open begins to sort through the cards and cash there using the obscure light from in between the blinds. There something sweet and hopeful in him that prays he just overlooked it and that he'll find it and be able to go over and shake Sam awake and say _sorry Sammy, sorry I'm so sorry, it was here the whole time..._

Of course Winchesters are never that lucky.

He heaves a heavy sigh and lets the wallet fall from his hand into the duffle.

"Was it there?" Sam asks, voice muffled and soft with sleep, the undertone an agonizingly sweet hopefulness.

Dean grunts in the negative as he looks over to his little brother, the same line of light falling over his own face and the wallet from the blinds falling across Sam's expressive eyes and Dean looks away quickly before he apologizes anyway. He drops down to sit on his bed where Sam had already pulled the covers back for him, another small peace offering.

"I didn't take it, I swear Dean." Sam almost whispers as his older brother lays down and turns away from him, curling up under the covers and staring at the wall with burning eyes.

Dean doesn't say a word.

...tbc

Okay getting a little more plot started up! Tell me what you think!? (I hate it when they're not on the same page even if I am the one writing it that way!) REVIEW!? ;);)

(Sorry for the late posting. Church choir, family and friends just about exhausted me this Easter. So Happy—late—Easter!):)


	3. Part 3

Part 3.

The morning sits quiet between the brothers. Coffee steam and yawns being shared instead of words. And Sam finds his heart easier with the more or less companionable silence. Dean is still moody but he hasn't bitten Sam's head off as of yet and the younger Winchester will take that as an improvement.

The sun is shining warm on the metal of Baby's hood and Dean allows his hand to mingle over the smooth surface as he goes to unlock his door and climb in. Sam takes the opportunity to enjoy the halfway happy, peaceful expression on his face. Sam takes in a deep breath of the fresh morning air, lets his eyes close against the sunshine, he ignores Dean's raised eyebrow once he's seated in the impala and then they're off to the morgue.

The boys simultaneously wrinkle their noses as they enter the room where the body lays covered with a white sheet of plastic, the clean, sharp scent of sterilized surfaces and materials raising their hackles with bad memories.

They're more or less ignored by the doctor though they don't mind the slight or the privacy. Sam gently pulls the plastic from the young girl's face and his heart aches at the thought of this young life ended so suddenly. The purple and blue bruises around her neck are stark against her white skin and Sam swallows thickly.

He feels Dean's heavy gaze on him as his brother's EMF meter buzzes to life and squeals loudly as he waves it over her still form. Dean frowns and turns it off, shoving it back in his pocket as Sam grabs her chart.

"Madeline Ross." He says softly, eyes finding her face. He feels Dean tense across the table from him, knows Dean likes this as little as he does. "Mother and father, one sister...died of strangulation."

"Well, that's that." Dean rumbles out. His first words of the day, and Sam can here his brother's tone that he doesn't appreciate that there was so little to be said about this young woman's life. Sam feels himself relax where he hadn't even known he'd been holding his breath, Dean's voice and the reassurance of his actual presence washing over him.

"Yeah odd." Sam agrees, swallowing. "Maybe it is nothing."

Dean shrugs, hands in the deep recesses of his coat pockets, the cold air of the room, and stillness of death on the table between them unconsciously telling on his senses. "Nah," he lets out easily and Sam follows him out into the hall, "Think your right about this one, Sam."

Sam's heart warms with the praise, sinks with the simple 'Sam' and not _Sammy. Baby steps,_ he thinks and tails Dean back to the impala typing in the Ross' address into the GPS on his phone. Time to find out what really happened to Madeline.

...

The Ross' lived in an old beautiful, white farm house. Hidden behind magnificent firs and birch trees, seemingly forgotten. The air was still and quiet shrouding the place in what seemed to be a respectful haze. As soon as Dean steps from the impala he shivers under all his layers. Yep, Sam had definitely called this one correctly.

The not exactly evil energy hanging around the house was nearly palpable to Dean, and he could only imagine what it must be like for Sam. He tucks the EMF meter into his coat pocket and follows Sam to the front door, decides to let Sam do the talking since this place had already raised his hackles.

His eyes were peeled.

And the fact that he's still cruelly achey from the last hunt doesn't help him calm down any. His very body feels in disrepair, behind his eyes is throbbing and his hearing fuzzy, he's trying to pop his ears to clear them. He shakes his head and prepares himself to work harder than usual to make up for himself.

It's a girl who answers the door, with a disturbing likeness to the woman they'd just seen lying dead on the morgue table. She's younger, but the touch of sadness has left dark circles under her eyes lending her an older, more mature look. Dean watches the exact moment Sam's heart breaks for her.

The puppy dog in Sam tilts his head to the side sending her a comforting smile and those big, understanding eyes. "Hi," Sam starts, "I'm Agent Grayson, this is my partner Agent Wayne, we're with the FBI, can we come in?"

Dean raises his hand in a wave as the young woman copies Sam's gesture and lets her head tilt to one side in a question. "FBI? Why are the FBI concerned about a suicide?"

Sam's face shows his surprise at her forwardness and quickness, Dean likes her immediately for her bluntness, but he can also hear something there in her tone, a doubt, an anger...like someone who hasn't been listened to.

Sam opens is mouth but Dean beats him to it ignoring his brother's sour look.

"You're Stacy right, Madeline's sister?"

She nods.

Dean clears his voice and gives her his best version of understanding, hopeful eyes...and he's dang good okay? It ain't all Sam, Jesus, where do you think the kid learned it from?

"We're just here to help, Stacy, your sister's death falls under what we would call suspicious circumstances and while other people may think she simply committed suicide...something tells me otherwise and something also tells me you think that too?"

Stacy looks surprised, fingers going back through her ruffled mop of brown curls. She looks Dean up and down before opening the door wider and allowing the brothers to slip in. Sam shooting Dean impressed glances all the time. _Not a complete idiot Sam._

Stacy stops there in the foyer looking nervous, the nail of one finger in her mouth, elbow folded on top of her other arm. "My parents aren't here right now," she states. But still looks nervously over her shoulder. "Look," she starts, a catch already in her throat... "You might just call me crazy like my parents but...Maddie was happy, we all were...this place was good for us. We were happy you know? We didn't fight, we got along, aside from the few times she took something of mine, or I annoyed her..."

"I know how that is," Dean says with a downward tilt of his lips and Sam shifts on his feet with the little jab.

Stacy takes a deep breath, "What I'm trying to say is things were good, we were happy, as a family and individually...Madeline was the happiest she'd been in a long time, she wouldn't have killed herself..."

She breaks off eyes wide skittering from their faces, arms coming to wrap around herself doubting herself again.

"It's okay," Dean comforts, one of his big warm hands rest on her thin arm, rubs up and down comfortingly. "We aren't going to laugh at you."

She shoots him a thankful look before giving Sam a slightly less welcoming one. Dean smiles as Sam huffs...sometimes people liked Dean better, they could probably sense that giant tree trunk Sam had up his ass. The elder Winchester almost laughs at that mental picture.

Stacy sighs and Dean gives her another reassuring nod.

"It's just..." she bites her bottom lip nervously, "There's something about this place, the house...something not right...since we moved here me and Maddie were the only ones that stayed upstairs. We were the only ones who noticed it."

"Noticed what?" Sam asks too quickly, and Dean nudges him with his elbow as Stacy sends him a look before turning back to Dean.

"There's a kind of atmosphere up there," she shudders, "I haven't been back up there since I found Maddie..." she rubs her hands up and down her own arms and then looks back to the boys. "It's cold, always so cold up there and some nights, some nights the bathroom light would turn on and off by itself. Me and Maddie could have both sworn we heard crying, echoey like it was bouncing off the tiles in the bathroom."

"Did you ever see anything?" Dean asks, his voice low and sensitive.

Stacy shakes her head, eyes falling to the floor, "No, we never saw anything...but can't you feel it?" She asks, desperation in her eyes, pleading them not to call her crazy... "Feel the sadness the darkness? It covers the whole house, I can even feel it out in the yard sometimes."

"I can feel it," Dean says softly, looking her in the eyes, "I can feel it."

She bites the inside of her math and nods, looking away to hide the sudden tears in her eyes.

"Do you mind if we take a look upstairs?" Dean asks next.

Stacy's head jerks up, "I guess I can't stop you, but..." Dean cocks his to one said urging her to finish... "just don't die."

Dean's grin sweetens and he gives her a friendly shove, "That's a promise."

As the brothers head up the stairs Stacy watches their backs with a slight smile and Sam whispers, "You're amazing WHEN you try."

Dean smirks, _hell yes_.

...

Dean's a pretty amazing person, Sam concludes. Because...he'd have to be for Sam to put up with him. Somehow Dean was still just as lovable even when he was monumentally pissed at Sam, and that said something about just how amazing Dean was.

Sam had been wracking his mind all morning trying to find a way to convince Dean he hadn't taken his picture, and the silence seemed to have been appreciated by Dean, who didn't start any conversation. Sam's heart still ached, but he felt better, hopeful this morning. Though Dean was angry Sam was relieved to know his brother wasn't about to cut him off or dump him.

He guesses these fears were undeserved, but Dean had been pissed, pissed like he hadn't been in a while. Sam can tell he's loosing steam, but still hurting with the loss of something precious to him and the sting of the would be betrayal. And even though Sam hadn't done anything wrong he still aches with his brother's pain and the rift between them.

Once up the flight of stairs Dean's leans over the banister taking a look down, his face in a sardonic grin. He chuckles and begins heading for the first of the two doors before quipping over his shoulder to Sam, "Wouldn't want to fall down THAT set of stairs."

Sam freezes, the words causing a stutter in his brain. Thinking of what he could be missing, thinking of what injuries Dean could be hiding from him. What his older brother could be risking...for himself and for Sam. Because they both knew Dean was crap at taking care of himself. Dean unconcernedly opens the door and peers in before slipping the EMF from his pocket and turning it own, making sure the volume was quiet. Sam's eyes are set like stones on his brother though.

 _What exactly had Sam missed on that last hunt when he'd been locked in that basement?_

Dean had seemed fine, beaten around sure, but fallen down stairs kind of beat up? Sam steps into the bedroom behind his brother, eyes taking in his brother's posture, the way he moves, the rhythm of his breaths...all tells as to Dean's mental and physical state.

Dean's hands are steady, his breath too, when he turns to look at Sam though he cradles his side every so subtly and his breath catches for a millisecond. Sam finds the extra wrinkles in his forehead that let him know Dean's battling a headache that's got to do with a little more than just his fight with Sam.

"Dean," he says about to ask when the EMF goes berserk making him jerk, that's how zeroed in he'd been on Dean. Dean sends him a look before stepping out of the room and down the hall towards the other door that they assumed was the bathroom. The EMF continues to whine, goes up and up in volume, the meter at its highest capacity.

They slow as they approach the shut door, exchanging apprehensive looks. Dean wraps his hand around the door handle and turns it, pushes it open. A cold blast of air whooshes out into their faces and the boy's eyes smart with the burning of it. They stand listening to the meter for a few seconds before Dean turns on the light and steps into the bathroom slowly.

"Dean, be careful..." Sam says, too late to lay a hand against Dean's chest to keep him by his side.

"I got it Sam," Dean says, the look he sends him sharp with alertness and understanding. He looks away and Sam watches with rising trepidation as he freezes, the muscles in his back ripple and cord with tension, feels his nerves rising and stretching.

 _Wrong, wrong, wrong._ Something wasn't right about this.

He puts a foot over the threshold and places a hand on Dean's shoulder, Dean jumps with his touch like he forgot he was there and turns to look at his brother. Sam's breath lodges in his throat with the look of absolute, soul deep agony in Dean's eyes.

He can feel the anger, the rage and guilt in the air can almost taste it with every breath, the air is charged with energy and Sam goes with his gut feeling. He pulls Dean back against him hard, and they both topple over into the floor safely out of the bathroom. The lights flashes off and the door slams shut with a loud bang by itself.

Sam and Dean sit sprawled over each other taking deep breaths, their nerves dissipating the adrenaline rushing like freight trains through their veins. Sam vaguely hears Dean groan under his breath as he mind spins trying to figure out what exactly was going on here. He'd gone through the history of the house thoroughly and nothing tragic had happened on the premises let alone in the house.

And yet this energy behaved like a severe vengeful spirit.

Chills wash over them in waves as they go back down the stairs, both boys sending one last look upwards where the cold is seeping from and they stop halfway down listening...can hear the heart wrenching sobs coming from the second floor. Both the boy's hearts constrict with fear and wonder at the terrifyingly beautiful, mournful sound. Dean looks to Sam a kind of glazed, entranced look to his eyes that the younger Winchester shudders with.

"What the hell happened here?"

...tbc

Ze plot thickens!

Thank you for reading!:) REVIEW!? ;);)


	4. Part 4

Part 4.

Sam is stumped and worried watching Dean twirl French fries around in his ketchup, a burger sitting on his plate with only two bites taken out of it. He's watching him carefully sipping on his steaming mug of green tea that Dean still had the presence of mind to grimace at. He mind is still reeling with Dean's revelation about the stairs, the evil in the Ross' house and the affect it seemed to be having on his brother.

Now was not a good time for something to lay heavily on Dean's heart especially when things were already shaky between them and when Dean was on the offensive, hiding things to wrap around himself like armor. Sam shoots him a warm smile in hopes on melting some of the icy shock that seemed to still have Dean in its grips.

"You okay?" He asks softly, shooting a grateful smile to their waitress as she walks away after refilling their waters.

Dean shrugs with his question and drops the fry, wiping his greasy salty fingers off on his jeans. He leans his elbows on the table top and sucks on his straw moodily, avoiding Sam's eyes. The little shivers still vibrating through Dean frame not lost upon his little brother and that he knows he's in for a grilling.

"Dean," Sam says softly, an urgency in his voice. "I know you're mad at me..." what he really wants to ask, _are you still mad at me?_ Because it's killing him; the gentle silences and anguished looks Dean keeps getting and now this...this worry for Dean's health and this strange case causing an even stranger reaction from Dean and Sam doesn't understand and he's scared and he can't read Dean right now because he doesn't know where his head is.

"I know you're still made at me, but talk to me. You've been weird."

Dean sends him a disgruntled look, he didn't want to talk about being angry, but didn't want to talk about that house and definitely _definitely_ didn't want to talk about the way it made him feel. Sam's heart sinks as Dean rolls his shoulders as if pushing a weight off and sending Sam a more alive glance.

"I'm not mad Sam, not anymore."

Sam blinks at that, what? That was about the most uncharacteristic thing Dean could ever say. His worry just amps higher with each moment that passes. There's a soul deep sadness in Dean's eyes that hadn't been there in years, the last time Sam had seen that slump in his shoulders he'd been about to give himself up to Michael, the younger brother swallows thickly. This was all about the picture? Couldn't be...what the hell was going on?

"I just...I just want the picture back Sam, I don't care why you did it, whatever, just can I have it back?" This quiet, sad, defeated Dean was a million time worse, his distrust and doubt hurt a million times worse.

Sam sits back like he's been slapped, his eyes watering. "What is it gonna take for you to believe me, Dean?" He asks, trying to keep the frustrated hiss from his tone, "I don't have the picture, I'm sorry it's gone, I am and wish, I really do wish I could give it back to you...wish I had stollen it just so I could give it back...but I didn't and I can't Dean. And we have a case to concentrate on so is your head in the game or not?"

Dean's eyes take on a sharpness, his nostrils flare at Sam's words and he's glad to think that Dean's finally listening to him actually taking into consideration that he might have not taken the picture. Sam can tell the question about Dean being focused or not stings his brother but he knows sometimes Dean needs a push. Dean's head ticks to the side in annoyance and Sam actually smiles at the welcomed fire in his brother's eyes.

"Now," Sam says with a sigh, "What are we going to do next?" He wants Dean to elaborate on that slightly scared, almost enraptured look that had been in his eyes as he stood in that bathroom.

Dean echoes his sigh and mindlessly tears up the paper casing from his straw into little pieces. "I don't know Sam..." his lips purse into a frowning line. "You said the house checks out?"

Sam nods, "Yep, usually old houses like that have at least one or two deaths tucked under their belts but this place is clean."

"Was the place empty at any time?" Dean asks, his eyes cast down on the table, his fingers playing in the mess he'd made.

Sam frowns but logs into his iPad, looking over his research. "Uhm yeah... looks like the place was abandoned for twenty or so years before the family that the Ross' bought the house from moved in...they were the Warrens who bought the house off a Wendy Lowry; but she had never lived in the house, it was family property."

"Why did the Warren's move?" Dean asks, and Sam sends him a look that clearly says _I'm not psychic anymore._

Dean takes the bait and raises his eyes brows as if to say' _behave_ ' Sam grins, looking back to his iPad. "They lived in the house three years before they moved out and put the house on the market, unsuccessfully until three years ago when the Ross' bought it."

"Three years?" Dean arches a brow, "Its good thing we don't believe in coincidences."

"Yeah," Sam muses, "There's definitely something going on here."

"Okay," Dean sits forward, his eyes snapping with intelligence and interest, the case having finally captured his attention. "So the question is who stayed at the place before it was abandoned for 'twenty or so' years?" He air quotes Sam and the younger brother rolls his eyes but nods his head.

"That would be the question." Sam affirms.

"I wonder..." Dean breaks off, looking out the restaurant window they were sitting in.

"What?" Sam asks, ready to accept any new ideas.

"Deaths would be reported but what about accidents or suicide..."

"Or suicide attempts..." Sam interrupts already turning back to the iPad. "Dean, you're fricking brilliant." He mumbles already lost in a world of a billion words. Dean huffs a laugh and motions for their check, paying and more than less pulling Sam from the restaurant and back to the car, Sam's lips moving silently as he reads.

"This is why we work together..." Dean snarks as he cranks up the impala, and Sam shoots him a distracted grin, hopefully they finally have a lead.

...

It's one-thirty in the afternoon by the time Sam finds something. The time having flown by for him, but he realizes he hasn't heard a peep from his brother since they got back to the room. He rubs hands down his face in a harsh, dry scrub and sighs with relief as he stands and his back and neck pop as he stretches.

He frowns, seeing both beds empty and knocks on the slightly ajar bathroom door, placing a hand flat on the wood pushing it open. He finds Dean standing in front of the mirror staring at himself with that same look, that same haunted aching expression from before. Sam's heart constricts and he swallows thickly and takes a step into the bathroom and glances into the mirror too half expecting to find something more there than just their reflections.

"Dean?" He asks, a hand landing on his arm gently, "What is it?"

Dean jumps even with both Sam's voice and touch warning him of his presence. His eyes go to Sam's hand on his arm and then slowly reach his face, the sad pain reflecting in them so terrible, the loneliness and hopelessness, Sam nearly takes a step back.

"Jesus Dean," he says under his breath, "What's going on with you?" He doesn't take his hand away, keeps it anchoring his brother with him and in front of him where Sam can look at him all his feelings and thoughts spread out and obvious.

Dean swallows thickly, ducks his head like he knows this but doesn't fight. Sam feels the slight shudder go through his frame. He shakes his head, looking back to the mirror and tilting his head at himself. "I just feel off..." he whispers simply, almost to himself. And Sam steps closer and looks into the mirror too. His eyes meeting Dean's reflected ones.

"How do you mean?" He asks, brows coming together in confusion.

"Just feel tired...and sad." Dean explains helplessly, doesn't how to explain it.

Sam raises a brow, "You mean depressed?"

Dean grunts in frustration and shakes his head looking away from the mirror, rubbing at his temples. "It doesn't feel like me...but it is me."

Sam shakes his head as he follows Dean out of the bathroom, "Are you okay though?" He asks, "What were you saying about stairs?" He arches a brow.

Dean looks disgruntled and annoyed by Sam not understanding him, he shrugs though seeming to shake his mantle of sadness off too and sends Sam a sharp look, "I'm fine, crazy goat dude just pushed me over the banister, that's how he got me in the first place."

Sam swallows thickly shifting his stance nervously as Dean sits down more slowly than usual, holding his breath...maybe Sam was just paranoid and imagining it. "You fell an entire floor." He says flatly, feeling anger of his own starting to bubble up.

Dean shrugs, fingers rubbing at his eyes. "I guess...I don't know Sam, I was kinda busy not getting eaten by an actual goat monster to really think about it afterwards."

"You could have died," Sam says, his voice low, "You almost did."

Dean rolls his eyes, "Aw c'mon Sam, it wasn't like that you were there...it was just my head had a little fall that was all, no harm done. I'm a little sore but believe me if I was internally bleeding I probably wouldn't have the strength to rage at you and be a general dick, right?"

He waits for Sam to think and then he gives a cold grin, "Right. Now, what did you find?"

Sam clears his throat and wipes his hands off on his jeans, guesses this isn't really time for bro and bro moments with innocent people still living in a haunted house. He goes to sit across from Dean on the foot of his bed, letting nervous fingers brush through his slightly disheveled mop of hair.

"So get this, you were right. Three years to the date that the Warren's bought the house their daughter, Kathy, was admitted to the El Jebel hospital with diagonal lacerations on her wrists. Attempted suicide. She survived which is why it doesn't show up on the record. Looks like we have a pattern."

Dean nods but grunts unsatisfied, leaning with his elbows on his knees, "Sliced wrists though?"

Sam shakes his head shrugging, "I know different MO, but like you said...we don't believe in coincidences. It was three years to the day."

"And was Madeline three years to the day for the Ross'?" Dean asks.

Sam nods, "Yep."

"Do the Warren's still live around?" Dean asks rising.

Sam shakes his head, "They relocated to Maryland, about the farthest away from here you can get."

Dean snorts a laugh through his nose, "Don't blame them, especially if like Stacy Ross they were aware of something darker in the house. But it kind of leaves us with a another dead end."

Sam grins holding up his iPad, motioning towards the door, "Fortunately for us, Wendy Lowry, the original owner of the house still lives right around here. Maybe she can tell us _when_ and _who_ abandoned that house in the first place."

Dean nods and jumps up following Sam out the door, "Or more importantly _why_?"

...

When the the brothers pull up in front of the small brick house out in the country they both exchange glances, quickly putting their badges away and slipping their dress coats off. Generally people like this reacted less well to the authorities. Dean leads the way his gait easy, shoulders more relaxed the warm breeze soothing over his headache and helping him forget the foreboding feelings he'd been experiencing.

He can feel Sam behind him, more aware of each other right now then they'd been in a while. The recent struggles having them hanging on tighter than ever, even if Dean was angry about his picture and Sam about not being told about the stairs. Dean smirks having expected the reaction, cursing himself for allowing himself to say something so thoughtless. Should have thought better than to freak Sam out even more.

Since they'd gone to the Ross' house this morning he'd lost a lot of steam. His anger was all but gone, frankly he was just tired, bone deep, soul deep tired. And he couldn't explain it. His body still ached, his head and eyes especially as well as his bad knee...he wanted to reach out for Sam but felt like he had no right after the way he'd yelled at him.

He was mostly convinced Sam hadn't had anything to do with the disappearance of his photo, in fact he'd mostly forgotten with the cold, sad shadows in his mind and blurriness of his thoughts...the sluggishness with which they floated around in his mind. Suddenly he feels an urgency to take care of this while he has time, while he's thinking about it...can't really even explain his feelings doesn't really understand what's happening inside him, but he just _knows_ he and Sam need to be in the clear.

He stops, turning back to his little brother and placing a rougher than meant to be hand on his chest. Sam stops abruptly with him, big hazel eyes jumping to his with a question and alertness. Dean softens as he looks to Sam, feels safety, warmth and trust flooding his confused, aching insides.

"Dean, you alright?" Sam asks, worry filling his eyes, one of his hands grabbing securely onto Dean's arm.

"Yeah," he says, sending Sam a grin, "Yeah I'm fine, I just. I need to say, I, I know you didn't take the picture." Dean watches as Sam all but melts, his eyes turning into gooey caramel and the hand on his arm twisting to fist Dean's shirt.

"And I'm sorry for yelling at you and not believing you."

"It's alright, it's alright," Sam whispers, "It's forgotten."

Dean swallows thickly around the lump in his throat and nods jerkily, sending Sam a smile...

"Lets hope she didn't just witness our chick flick moment out the window." Sam teases, with the happiest smile he's had in days.

Dean snorts as they step up on the porch and he knocks on the door, "Small town, old lady...you best bet she lives in her window, Sammy boy."

Sam grins so hard it looked like his face would split and Dean smiles back, swearing he'll never again blame Sam for something even if it was his fault. Dean can't explain it but his soul rests easier and he feels something inside him resign without his permission, feels a contented apathy take hold in his heart...this was everything he wanted.

Considering the case they were working on... _s_ _houldn't that scare the hell out of me?_ He asks himself.

...tbc

Couldn't have them mad at each other anymore it was literally killing me...omgoodness what is going on with Dean and this crazy case? REVIEW!? ;);)

Thank you for reading! :)

I'm aware that the first two chapters of this kind of dragged...sorry :(:/


	5. Part 5

(!WARNING! Quick word of warning for everyone. These next few chapters will contain suicidal content...I don't want to hurt anyone or trigger anyone...please be mindful and judge for yourselves :)

Part 5.

Sam's soul soars. That pacing, unhappy beast inside him finally going back to sleep. Dean's eyes sparkle again as their smiles mirror each other again, and Sam fancies he feels their souls completely merge again. The tension flies out of his body and mind, he lets himself melt into Dean's easy company again.

He's not blind. He knows Dean is still down and off, knows whatever was haunting that house had somehow tainted Dean or made an impression on him. But he's resting assured that they're going to get the answers they need and end this all tonight, have good night's rest and then back home to the bunker and hunting for Cas and a way to defeat Dagon.

They wait side by side at the door, hearing shuffling and Dean rolls his eyes, rubbing at the back of his neck and Sam makes a mental note to get him some ibuprofen after they leave. Finally the door cracks open and both brother's flash their brightest, most innocent smiles at the elderly lady standing in the shadows.

"Hello ma'am," Sam says sweetly, "I'm Sam, this is my brother Dean. We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions about a piece of property you used to own?" He's the very incarnation of innocence and friendliness, to the lonely widow looking for company it sounded like heaven.

The door opens wider, exposing a shriveled up old lady with snowy white hair piled on top of her head in a billowy bun. Her eyes are still sharp and the clearest blue, she gives them a smile through the screen door.

"Hello," she pushes the door open and offers her hand first to Sam and then to Dean, "I'm Wendy, why don't you boys come on in?"

Sam sends her a sweet smile and Dean follows his brother in the house, closing the door behind himself.

"Thank you," Wendy says, laying a smile out for him, and Dean grins back charmingly.

"My pleasure ma'am."

"Can I interest either if you in a glass of water or some coffee?" She asks, as they follow her into the kitchen and she motions for them to sit.

"Coffee would be great actually." Sam answers at the very nearly blissed out expression on Dean's face just with thought of caffeine.

"Now what is it you boys want to know exactly?" She asks, laying out mugs on the table after pushing the start button on the coffee maker.

"Well," Dean starts, leaning forward on the table with his elbows, giving his impression of a wide eyed boy. "We're kind of history buffs and just moved around here, so we wanted to check out some of the older properties and estates..."

"And," Sam takes over from Dean seamlessly, "The house you sold a couple years back is one of the oldest in the area, but we couldn't find out very much about it in the library so I found your address and we thought why not?"

"Ah yes," the woman sighs, turning and grabbing the coffee pot slowly, her arthritis riddled hands shaking.

"Here, let me." Dean says with a small smile and takes it, pouring their cups.

"Thank you again." She says, smiling sweetly into Dean's face. He sits back down and Wendy takes a seat between them, they all warm their hands on the hot mugs as she thinks back. "That was the family estate, when I was a girl my Uncle Anthony lived there with his wife and two girls."

"So," Sam says frowning, "How did the house come to be yours? Usually family houses are passed down from parent to child right?"

She nods slowly, looking down into her cup a faraway look in her eyes, "There lies the real history behind the house and the family tragedy."

Dean perks up at that sending Sam a look, Sam simply tilts his head to the side in a question, places a gentle hand on one of her old, withered ones. "Will you tell us the story?"

She nods heavily, "It's always been kind of secret, something we never spoke about, they were probably ashamed but...time passes and people move on...Uncle Anthony died a good twenty years ago."

Sam and Dean are silent waiting for her. Dean is inhaling the steam from his coffee contentedly enjoying the silence and Sam takes the moment to remind himself this is what his life was...sitting in a stranger's kitchen waiting to hear about some untold horror but the content look on his brother's face is making him the happiest of people.

"It was the early, mid sixties I think," Wendy says, tilting her head still trying to think back. "My cousins, uncle Anthony's daughters, were nineteen and twenty-two. Amber was the younger, Amy the older. They were close..." she pauses shaking her head... "Very close, they did everything together, went to school, worked, planned their entire lives all together. Now how I remember Amy was engaged to married to a young man from the local factory..."

She sighs heavily and Sam and Dean's ears are straining to not miss a single syllable. "That was when the first tragedy struck, Amy's fiancée was killed in a fire at the factory, burned up so bad there was nothing even left to identify him by. Obviously, Amy was heartbroken...after the funeral she went home and she hung herself in the upstairs bathroom by the shower curtain."

The room was silent and Sam can feel the ache, and the regret of that girl's pain, looks at Dean's face and sees the whiteness there knows he can feel it too...the loss of someone close and dear can do anything to a person.

"But it was far from over, Amy forgot about Amber in her grief. The younger sister had followed her home and found her body hanging there in their shared bathroom. Without Amy Amber had no purpose in life, her future ruined...she slit her wrists and bled to death under Amy's corpse."

The brother's hold their breaths waiting for the end of the story...Dean now chewing nervously on his nail. "So Uncle Anthony buried the girls on the property and moved, never stayed another night in the place...when I was older I received the title for the house in my name in the mail and a note from my uncle saying he didn't want it, and that I could do with it what I wanted."

"Wow," Sam says under his breath glancing to Dean, who's eyes are glazed over and he's looking away into nothing obviously in deep thought. "That's, that's some story."

Wendy nods again her eyes sad too. "Still after all these years sometimes I just try to put my selves in their shoes...what kind of love is that deep? Would I ever kill myself just because someone I loved was gone?" She shrugs, "I've never had a love like that."

Sam and Dean's eyes connect for an instant. The depth and fear and loyalty there potent and snapping with electricity and they blink, looking away from each other. The shared terror there, the knowledge that they'd been where those girls had been pulsating between their connection, that they had choices like this before and had given up everything for one more moment alive with each other. Or rather eternity gone together.

"Yeah, well," Dean says softly and clears his throat... "Not everyone gets a love like that, not everyone."

He sends Sam a sad smile and then knocks on the table, "Well ma'am, we won't take up anymore of your time...thank you so much for telling us your story."

Sam rises with Dean and they shake her small hand in turns, waving as they go out the door and walk down the sidewalk to the car. Dean stands in silence in the sun again, the keys still in his hand, chin tilted into the warm wafting air. And Sam watches him across the hood of the impala, watches the way the breeze ruffles that fluff of hair at his forehead, the way the sunlight caramelizes his freckles and, when he opens them, illumines his emerald green eyes.

"So that explains the two different deaths, cutting and hanging, they must take turns claiming lives." Sam's says softly.

"Yeah," Dean muses, "What are the odds..." but doesn't finish. They both hear him though, _what are the odds we get a case like this?_

"Would you?" Dean asks suddenly, his eyes boring into Sam's, gazing into his very soul.

"Would I what?" Sam returns, heart constricting, because he already knows the question.

"Would you if I did?" The unspoken terrible, forbidden, cowardly word; _suicide._

"I don't know." Sam answers, honestly. The sadness and ache in his eyes saying everything he needs to in this moment... this moment where Dean seems frighteningly tired and at peace.

"I don't know."

As they climb into the impala Dean's unspoken response sits in between them with sweet anguish.

 _I do_.

...

Dusk has fallen and Dean and Sam sit in the impala waiting for the cover of darkness to creep onto the haunted property and dig up Amber and Amy's corpses. Dean's face is hard, the shadows sharpening his features and his eyes sparkling in the night. Sam can tell he hates the idea of digging up the siblings...but they both know they aren't at rest this way.

The night is turning clear and cool and beautiful as they climb out of the car and toss shovels over their shoulders, one carrying salt, the other carrying the lighter fluid. They easily find the gravestones. Grey blocks of stone simply marked with 'Amy' and 'Amber' Sam pretends to not see Dean swallowing thickly.

Makes him even more anxious to have this case over and behind them, he needs to get Dean away from here, can see the tension and the fear in Dean at being back here, doesn't understand it...is scared himself. He knows it's probably the manner of the spirits...ghosts of angry siblings who died together playing in Dean's mind for those few seconds he'd stood in the bathroom...the room had been an open wound of long past emotions and regrets and guilt, the sobbing tears of a sister finding her true soul mate dead and gone.

Sam knows all of that forced into Dean's mind wasn't good, the manner of the ghost they're dealing with projecting their emotions onto their victims and causing them to kill themselves. Sam is so thankful they don't have to step another foot in that house. Because honestly he'd be scared for Dean if they did, he'd be terrified the spirits would claim him.

Dean's silent as they work swiftly on the long forgotten graves, they hit wood and within two hours they're covering up the smoldering ashes of the sister's skeletons. Sam forces him away from the graves and back to baby with a hand on the small of his back, makes sure he's with him the whole way, watches him carefully. When he gets a tired smile he sighs in relief...its over.

Dean is silent and withdrawn, but softer for Sam. Allows his little brother to bring him ibuprofen and water after he gets out of the shower. Lets Sam run fingers over his sides and stomach in search of swollen areas or broken ribs, he's still scared from Dean's confession about the stairs.

They eat supper in Dean's bed in front of the tv, but Dean falls asleep before finishing his food Sam's presence and warmth chasing away the night terrors that had been bugging him the last few nights. Sam frowns, remembers Dean had hardly eaten anything for lunch or breakfast, doesn't move so he doesn't wake Dean up, decides he'll hang tight for a couple of hours while his older brother gets some deep sleep.

He's nodding off over Criminal Minds reruns when Dean stirs for the first time, turns over on his side away from Sam frowning and mumbling under his breath. Sam leaves a heavy warm hand in his back, his thumb catching on the knobs of his spine.

"It's alright, I'm right here, Dean." He murmurs in his general direction, his head snapping to look at Dean however when his brother jerks with his touch. A subtle trembling takes over, sweat coats his forehead...Sam slowly begins to hear the knocking of Dean's chattering teeth.

"Dean." He shakes his brother gently, usually enough to jerk Dean back to consciousness, but this time there is absolutely no reaction. One tear seeps from under Dean's squeezed shut eyes, makes a shining track down his white cheek.

"Dean!" Sam urges louder, rocking his body on the bed when he shakes him again.

"No!" Dean sobs with a huge, coughing breath as he comes out of it, his wet eyes opening lightening fast and he jerks over to find Sam, his hand latching into Sam's t-shirt like a vice. "Sammy, Sam...they're still there, they're still...they got her..."

"What?" Sam asks, pulling his brother towards him before his words break though...

"Stacy, they got Stacy..."

Sam jumps up grabbing the iPad, breathing heavily as he opens up the police scanner to listen, Dean still halfway asleep and in his nightmare shivering on the bed, listening too. _Another_ _suicide_ , it says. _Too late._

Sam grits his teeth, his hand slamming down on the table, "Dammit!"

He turns to find Dean sitting up, his legs off the side of the bed looking down at his arms. "Dean," he says walking up next to him, a hand on his shoulder and his older brother jumps. Sam looks down to find red furrows in Dean's forearm and the soft flesh of his wrist, lightening fast he catches Dean's other hand before he scratches again.

"Dean here...don't do that." He gently forces him to uncurl his fist, their fingers threading together as he reaches to grab some tissues and soak up the blood oozing from the scratches.

"It was just a dream," he whispers even as fear cold and dark wraps around his heart and his mind races...what the hell was going on, what the hell had they missed? What the hell were they going to do? Sam bites the inside of his mouth even as he takes in the terror, exhaustion and defeat in Dean's eyes...

They had to go back, back to that room. That room where Amy and Amber had ended and where all this began.

tbc...

Whattt, why is it so sad? It's my fault, but apparently I'm not immune to my own sadness lol. Can anyone guess what's tying the girls to the house? (I hope you can't hehe) REVIEW!?


	6. Part 6

Part 6.

They sit in the impala in the fresh morning air, parked a little ways off on the side of the road watching the goings on at the Ross' house. The windows are rolled down and the cool breeze wafts through the car. Sam sips on orange juice eyes alternately on the house and on his brother. Dean sits in the driver's seat, eyes red, blood shot and dry, hair perfect like always and a navy blue jacket wrapped around him, still shivering periodically.

The chicken biscuit Sam had ordered him for breakfast forgotten in his lap and Sam sighs, resting his elbow in the open window and biting on his finger nervously. Dean's hands lay in his lap, the red scratch marks hidden under the sleeves of his shirts but from the way he'd gazed at them quizzically in the bathroom this morning as he got ready for the day he didn't remember doing it.

Sam clears his throat, glancing over at Dean as he looks over with the noise, "You need to eat." He says simply before looking back to the house.

Dean presses his mouth into a straight line but doesn't snap back, just sighs wearily and looks back to the house as well. "I can't." He says simply. When Sam hands him his half drunk bottle of Tropicana he accepts it and sips from it, his eyes stuck on that house with an alarming intensity.

Sam sighs, rubbing at the wrinkles in his forehead. "You not gonna last much longer like this, you didn't sleep a wink last night."

"Don't you think I know?" Dean asks, voice gentle but gravelly and deep, he rubs at his eyes roughly even as he says it only solidifying Sam's worries...they were in no shape for a hunt. But with the growing darkness under Dean's eyes and the growing darkness within his eyes Sam knows they can't wait. Whatever version of possession these sisters employed was wearing on Dean. Their emotions and the darkness of their deaths driving him closer and closer to the edge of his sanity and his endurance.

"She died alone, bled out on the cold bathroom floor..." Dean says, his eyes haunted. "I'm such a...I failed...I knew what they were capable of and we just burned their corpses, like it's ever that simple! I failed her, I'm such a failure..."

Sam sits frozen like he's been slapped in the face. "Dean..." he croaks out hoarsely, he grabs Dean by his arm roughly and gives him a shake. "No. Listen to me. There was no way we could have known. Am I heartbroken Stacy died? Yes, but that's not on us, that's not on you...we did our best for her."

The eyes Dean turns on him are so raw and pulsing with pain that Sam swallows thickly and holds on to him tighter... "We're going to end this. We're going to end it, and then we're gonna go home and you're gonna eat and sleep and you'll feel better, and it'll all be over."

Dean mirrors his swallow, wide eyes watching his mouth as the words fall from his lips, he nods slowly, "Yeah," he whispers, "Yeah okay."

"Hey," Sam shakes him again, "Look at me..." Dean's eyes jump to his face, "You are not them, we are not them."

Dean swallows thickly and nods, though his eyes skitter away from Sam to look at the house again. Sam frowns and sighs in frustration, Dean wraps the biscuit in his lap back up and tosses it onto the seat between them. Sam takes it and puts it back in the bag, maybe Dean will be hungry later.

"Let's get out of here." Dean mumbles tossing back the last of their shared orange juice and wiping his fingers off on his jeans before cranking Baby up. Sam nods, heart sinking at the prospect of going to see Stacy's body at the morgue.

...

The room is as cold and as sterile as they remember. Dean stands frozen over the white form on the table. Sam's heart is in his stomach at the look on his face. The unknown weight of this case is bearing on both their shoulders, Dean's feelings dark and shadowy between them...the literal and metaphorical ghosts of Amy and Amber and their suicides hovering over them darkly.

Sam's already tired and worried and needing Dean close from the fight they'd had before, but now Dean was sorry, wasn't angry...he was tired and resigned and Sam almost preferred the other Dean that was at odds with him, this Dean was terrifying and unpredictable...this Dean unintentionally wraps them both in dread and uncertainty...and Sam grits his teeth fisting his hands tightly watching Dean's broken face as he stares at Stacy's still face knowing it was those damned spirits doing it.

Dean's fingers just barely skip over her white shoulder, his breath stuttering and Sam's heart freezes as Dean's eyes lock on the deep, red wounds in her wrists with sick fascination. His own fingers wrapping around his scratched arm digging into his flesh through the materiel and Sam knows it's got to hurt. The look on his face so open and aching, like a window into the deepest, most painful part of Dean.

Sam steps up to the table and grabs the sheet covering her again with a flourish of his arm, looks to Dean who just blinks at him for a moment. His hand fisting one last time in his coat sleeve before he ducks his head and hides his mouth in the curve of his elbow...

"Imma be sick." He chokes out as he flees the room.

Leaves Sam standing over the girl's dead body, the girl they should have saved.

...

They take time to regroup at the hotel, Sam forcing Dean to try and nap before they tackle this hunt. He manages to find out from neighbors that the Ross' refuse to stay in their house again, so the haunted place is empty. He goes through their supplies, making sure they're prepared for anything. Salt shells and each having an iron bar.

As the sun goes down he closes Baby's trunk and stands in the open door, the orange afternoon sunlight seeping into the darkened room and lighting on Dean's figure lying on his side facing the door, his eyes open and red rimmed...probably hadn't slept at all.

He gets up and pads over in his socked feet to join Sam at the door, blinking in the sudden brightness but gives Sam a half way happy look, leaning against the doorframe. He sighs with the warmth of the sun, but they're comfortable in the breeze. They watch dusk descend from the foot hills of the shadowing mountains, Dean quiet and more or less relaxed beside him. The crickets begin to sing, somehow it feels like some unexpected blanket of peace has covered them and Dean shoots him a tired smile.

"Did we just watch a sunset together?" Sam asks, sending him a rueful grin.

"Yeah, we did." Dean says softly, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder and patting him gently, "We sure did." He walks off without anything else and starts lacing up his boots, checking his colt and the shells in his sawed off shotgun.

And as much as Sam enjoyed the quiet time he knows what Dean's doing, maybe he's not even trying but he is...he's preparing them both for the possibility this is Dean's last sunset with him, enjoying it, reveling in it. Letting Sam feel him and see him close, allowing the small touches Wrapping his soul up in 'Sammy' because if he has to die he'll die at peace with his brother, he'll die knowing he did right by him.

Sam shuts the door on the sunset and the dusk, shuts the door on the future and it's possibilities; _we're going home tonight_ , he swears. Even so Sam feels sick as the two brother's silently climb into the impala together and Dean sends him a tired smile as he pulls onto the road and points Baby's grill towards the haunted house.

...

 _The sisters had know from the second the two men had entered the house that these were the two they had been waiting for. The living vessels perfectly balanced for them, soulmates, siblings...just as rare as they themselves had been. These boys, now men, had grown into each other, there was no telling where one stopped and the other started._

 _Their smiles began and ended with each other, their heartbeats played an echoey rhythm in their chests...their souls a shared whole; a bright show of ethereal light. A love and devotion nearly terrible in its intensity bonding them together. In life these brothers had the power the sisters only had in death._

 _They wanted that. They wanted their power, their closeness...the anger that they had ripped themselves apart had kept them at unrest and violent all these years. The younger burned with anger at the older for choosing to leave her and the older with an anger that her little sister had followed her to hell, an anger at what life had done to them._

 _That same power trembling in waves of energy hummed in between these two men. Except theirs was powered by love, a selfless unconditional love that burned brighter than a thousand suns...and it angered the sisters and filled them with want. A lust for such a connection, their guilt and disappointment dragging them ever closer to insanity, so when the older brother had stepped into their bathroom they forced their insanity into his mind._

 _Took the will to live right out of him and filled his head with shadows and the whispers of death without the pain of life. The price we all must pay to live and strive to be good and happy._

 _Amy and Amber spun their web of delusion and darkness in Dean's mind, sucking the life force and vitality from his eyes, drawing him ever closer back to that house._

 _They watch from the upstairs window as he arrives with his brother. Their features are hard and set and they can feel the familiar feeling of anger wafting off the taller one. Dean is but a shadow of the man he'd been just the day before, his soul an open wound and his younger brother's half rendered aching and unsure for him as a result._

 _The nearly unbearable light leaking between them, glows and shines, dazzling the dark spirits. The love, the trust, the holy fear for one another is everything the sisters never had, everything they had taken from themselves with their lives. They'll be damned if these brothers have what should be theirs..._

...

They sit in the silence of the night in the darkness of the impala gazing at the shadowy house ahead. Dean's face is set like stone, his soul like flint...Sam can feel his resolve. And god, he's afraid so afraid for him, for them...for himself. What if Dean is right? What if it's already done, what if the sisters make him kill himself before Sam can end them?

Jesus, he runs a hand through his hair, he was taking dean right back to the place where this had all started armed with two guns and who knows how many knives? This had to have been the stupidest thing they've ever done...and yet Sam already knows there's no changing Dean's mind...his big brother will never let him go into that house alone. He has to try though.

"Dean..."

"No Sammy." Dean cuts him off, "I already know what you're gonna say. I'm not staying I'm not...I'm not gonna leave you!"

"That's what I'm afraid of Dean!" He yells back, telltale wetness in his eyes.

"Hey, hey," Dean says, catching Sam's arm and pulling him closer across Baby's front bench. "We always knew it might turn out this way. It's going to be okay, either way it's going to be okay."

Their eyes meet and Sam doesn't flinch, his voice soft, "If _you_ go, _I_ go. _That's_ the way it's always been."

...tbc

OMGGG I can't, I mean they're about to walk straight in there, and the girls are waiting for them! REVIEW!?

(((So y'all might not care about this at all, but I just wanted to share with someone...(if y'all haven't noticed I'm a pretty lonely person lol)...so my older sister got engaged today to her childhood sweetheart. And let me just say they are the two most beautiful people their story is inspiration to me...and they've been in love for years and years...and life has not been good to them but they always kept on fighting and believing that someday they would be together...and now it's happening and I'm a little emo so I'm going to shut up. Good bye:):)))


	7. Part 7

Part 7.

Sam picks the lock and then the boys slowly open the door, pushing it inward. It's dark, the air cool, drafting from upstairs, Dean takes out his flash light and turns it own illuminating the still and quiet home. Sam takes a deep breath as they step over the threshold and into the house. The air is charged with energy and Sam feels his brother tense as soon as they enter. They step into the foyer and the front door slams shut behind them of their own accord.

Sam shivers, can't help but feel the sisters have been waiting for them. He wants to attach Dean to his hip and never let go, but he knows they've got to move fast to end this. He knows they have to go upstairs and he nearly trembles at the thought of Dean making a close acquaintance of stairs again.

Sam Winchester is scared. And that's scaring him even more that what he's scared of.

He follows Dean into the dining room that opens up into the living room. They stand, ears popping in the since, their senses aching with the strain they're putting on them. It's so quiet, way too quiet. Sam is trembling with it, the adrenaline making the blood in his veins sing.

Dean beside him, is as firm and strong as ever, even though Sam knows he is weak and weary...knows the sisters have already had small victories over him somehow. He watches Dean carefully out of the corner of his eye as the evil energy in the house swirls around them, flirts with them and their own energies.

Sam looks around at the walls surrounding them and tries to think of the happier times this house had seen. The content families...the best of friends siblings...now rendered a mausoleum to those brighter, better days. A mere gravestone in a giant graveyard of forgotten, abandoned houses stained by evil and sadness.

Sam shakes his head and concentrates on the task at hand again. They wander into the living room now, looking around carefully, stalking the place like hunters even though Sam is pretty sure here in the sister's domain, they were about to become the prey. Both brother's come to a sudden halt in front of the fireplace.

There are two dining table chairs placed facing across from each other, one on each side of the large hearth. On the seat of one lays an old kitchen knife and on the seat of the other a coil of rope, it's end already shaped into a hangman's noose. Portrayed there for the two of them, for them each to choose...in what way would they inevitably follow the sister's footsteps?

Sam clenches his fist and jaw at the audacity of it...the injustice it does he and Dean's bond, the dishonor it casts upon their will to survive and conquer evil. He looks to find Dean white and grave beside him, his mouth a thin line, his eyes glinting coldly in the low lighting...even his grey pallor cannot make him seem unintimidating at this moment.

Dean scoffs under his breath and kicks the chair with the rope in it.

Sam returns this with a cold smile the anger and indignation still singing in his very his soul. "These bitches are psycho." He says and Dean snorts a laugh at Sam's uncustomary cursing.

"Yeah Sam, they're serial killer spirits I'm pretty sure that gets them under the 'psycho' bar."

"Yeah, but why they got to be such...psycho BITCHES?!" He yells the last word at the top of lungs, up towards the second floor.

Hardly a second after that the younger Winchester is thrown by an invisible force of power up against the wall, he hears Dean yell and hears himself echo it before his forehead connects with the oak bookshelf on the tumble down and all goes dark the last thing he's vaguely aware of is Dean desperately calling his name...but he's not there, he's not there to catch him.

 _Not right, not right_.

...

Sam's limp body falls to the floor with a hard thud and he doesn't get back up, stays face down on the polished wood. Dean strains to go to him but finds himself rooted to his place. He can't even move his arms enough to grab a handful of salt from his pocket, or the small iron bar Sam had armed him with before they stepped into the house.

"Sam!" He yells, "Sammy, please answer me..." He grits his teeth before fisting his fingers and looking up to the ceiling. "Not cool! BITCHES!" He repeats Sam for lack of better insult and immediately feels dark satisfaction as he thrown back against the wall, pinned there unable to even so much as turn his head.

Mess with him, torture him, rape his mind and hijack his thoughts but screwing with Sammy was too far.

Slowly by the fire place figures are manifesting themselves in a sad bluish light. The first is a beautiful woman with the saddest biggest eyes, her long messy hair is waving behind her, floating, gravity disturbed by her otherworldliness. Her lips are chalky grey but the thick rope burn around her neck is burning red, she holds her head at an unnatural angle obviously wrenched or broken by the hanging.

 _Amy_.

Beside her the younger sister materializes slower. Her icy blue eyes are colder, though just as big as her sister's. Her pallor is even whiter, her hair cropped into a hallo of dark curls around her face...but she shares the burning red wounds on her wrists and lily white forearms with the fiery rope burn on Amy's neck.

 _Amber_.

Dean watches them, breath caught in his throat. They are terribly beautiful in a way that dazzles him and makes his eyelashes flutter in quick blinks. Amber is clearly the one in charge, the cold bitterness and anger in her blue eyes nearly overpowering even to Dean Winchester killer of all things dark and gruesome and evil.

Amy's anger is softer, her bitterness and discontent obviously more for her younger sister and the pain that she herself had caused. She more or less ignores the older Winchester floating over to Sam's prone figure, she bends beside him.

"Don't you dare lay a damn finger on him!" Dean yells, fighting against them once again, eyes wild and infuriated as Amber approaches him her icy touch caressing his face even before her blue, transparent hand lands on his cheek.

"He'll only ever hurt you, you know Dean?" She says, her voice floating to him angelic and cold as an icy dagger penetrating his mind. "You're a lot like me Dean, trusting, naive, unconditionally offering up everything we are...and they" she spits motioning her chin over to Amy and Sam, "They just take and take and when they're done taking they throw us away...they don't think of everything we gave up or all the work we put into them and their lives."

"I'm nothing like you." Dean hisses, feeling her gentle but icy probings fighting with the defenses he'd sloppily put up in his mind. "Me and Sammy are nothing like you two."

Amber chuckles mirthlessly, "There you are wrong Dean Winchester, very wrong. You are the first set of siblings we've met like us all our very very long lives...siblings that share something very very intimate..." she lingers a long finger down the center of Dean's chest and his eyes widen in understanding.

"Soulmates...Amy is your soulmate." He says softly, nearly under his breath.

She nods slowly, "Fast on the uptake, but yes...me and Amy share two halves of one whole soul...thus why I need her and she needs me even if I do hate her as much as she hates herself most days...but you boys already knows how that feels don't you...I can taste something sharp amongst the overpowering sweetness of your love and devotion." Her voices turns with disgust.

Dean grimaces at that, _yuck_.

"You've both known anger and hate towards each other but there has never been deeper love and trust between you as there it now, there is nothing you wouldn't do for Sam, nothing Sam wouldn't do for you...and that is why you two are just what me and Amy have been waiting for a very, very long time."

"What, what are you talking about?" Dean chokes out trying to get the attention back on himself amidst the cold agony in his mind and his heart, the icy tips of his fingers and nose starting to sting with the freeze of Amber's rising agitation. She's gone to staring at Sam with an alarming intensity, with that same anger and bitterness and wild obsession that she looks at Amy with.

"I'm talking about me and Amy's life we were supposed to live!" Amber rages out through clenched teeth. "We deserved to be happy, to grow old...to live!"

Dean feels himself wither with the darkness she's forcing inside him, the icy despair she's forcing him to look through. "And that...that is why we need you and your brother my love..." she says softer, icy fingers trailing from Dean's brow down to ghost over the bow of his top lip.

"Get. The. Hell. Out. Of. My. Face." Dean whispers out, his eyes boring into hers.

His head snaps back against the wall and dents the sheet rock with the force Amber back hands him with across the side of his face. He feels the skin break and warm blood trickle down his cheek.

She takes a few gasping, calming breaths and sends him an cooler look. "We will live our lives, just like we were meant to...but we will live them in your bodies, we will take over your combined souls."

Dean struggles against the emotions and feelings she presses into him. The thoughts that life would be better for he and Sammy if they were at rest, if they were together forever...if they died by their own hands side by side, if they never got hurt again...if they never hurt each other again.

"No..." he whispers out, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to shake the alien thoughts from his mind. "No, no, no."

"Yes." Amber says simply, calmly, her icy hands cupping both of Dean's cheeks her eyes boring into his now wide open ones... "Yes. And don't thank me for ending your suffering," she coos with a sickly smile on her face, "Thank yourself...because you are going to be one that does it." She steps back from him and Dean feels the power holding his body disappear, he slumps to the ground in a pile of limbs and trembling nerves...he doesn't know himself...everywhere inside he feels Amber and Amy...Amber and Amy and their anger and their surrender...their surrender to death.

The rope around his neck...the knife against the tender skin of his wrists.

"No." He says softly.

"Now you're going to go upstairs to the bathroom. Amy and I will bring Sam."

"No," he whispers again, this time nearly a question.

Amber jerks his chin cruelly in her hand to make him look at her. "Yes, you will. Or Amy will kill dear little Sammy here and now."

Dean's eyes jump to his little brother's prostrate form, his head resting in the Amy's lap, her eyes go sadder with Dean's pleading gaze. "I have to make it up to her, this is the only way...I need to make it up to her." She says. And Dean wants to throw up with the sight of her ghostly bluefish fingers slowly wrapping themselves around Sam's neck.

"Okay, okay," he gasps, feeling cold tears on his face. Tears that aren't his own...Amber's tears as she prepared to end her life alongside her sister's. "Okay, I'll go."

Knows he and Sam's best chance is with him free to move on his own, free to save Sam given the chance even though deep down he knows more than likely Amber's thoughts are too deep inside him. Feels them now choking _Dean_ out and filling him with defeat and agony...god the agony...the agony he knew; _the agony of losing your soulmate_.

 _Forgive me Sammy_ , is the last original thought he bears as he begins the trek up the stairs and to the bathroom where this all began.

Behind him Amy and Amber gather Sam between them like he weighs nothing, Dean goes only with the peace of knowing that Sam is coming too. He's coming where Dean will see him, know he's there...touch him...remember who _Dean_ really is. His eyes meet Amber's as he stands just outside the threshold of the bathroom and her icy, resolute glare sends his eyes skittering back to the floor and stepping into the freezing room.

"Nooo!" Is the anguished cry that breaks from his throat as the bathroom door slams in his face, slams shut, a much too thick barrier between he and Sam. "No...Sam'y, pl'ze no!"

"Pl'ze don't leave me..." he pleads through Amber's tears...the knowledge and feeling of being parted from Sam breaking him...breaking him like it had broken Amber. "Samm...pl'ze don't leave me..." the pleas fall in a sobbed out whispers as, through tear dimmed eyes, he watches the old kitchen knife from downstairs manifest itself on the bathroom counter.

Without a single thought Dean reaches for it.

...

Sam wakes groaning with the way his head aches, his pulse beating cruelly in his ears. He rolls over onto his stomach and slowly pushes himself up on his hands and knees where he coughs back the urge to vomit. He uses the bannister to pull himself to his feet and freezes when he sees where he is. Upstairs. Upstairs outside the closed bathroom door. Amy and Amber's bathroom... _the_ bathroom.

"Dean?" He calls, fear making his voice break, the pain making it softer and less sure than he meant it to be. He wants Dean, needs Dean but there is only silence...so much silence. Not a single movement in the whole house, not even a whisper of a breath. The panic rising in him is crushing, he freezes eyes locked on the floor.

Down at his feet in a puddle of blood, _Dean's blood,_ a voice supplies in Sam's head, that is leaking out from under the bathroom door, lays the rope. It's noose is open and ready; ready for use.

...tbc

OMG this is awesome, I'm alternating writing and hugging myself rocking back and forth(no, I'm not insane...well I suppose I probably couldn't tell, lol) hope you guys like just as much!? REVIEW!? ;);)


	8. Part 8

Part 8.

The knife feels like redemption as he cuts, smooth as a hot knife through butter, into his skin. The blood wells up and rushes down his arms and to the floor and it feels like salvation. Dean feels as though he's finally doing something right, finally making up for some of the wrong he's done. He hisses with the pain, but the cold in the bathroom numbs it.

He switches to the next wrist, blood gushing from the open wounds as he flexes his muscles and uses his hand. He looks up absently to find Amber above him, her fingers rubbing in his blood, her eyes alive with a fire as she watches him meet the same fate she herself had met.

"Thank you," she whispers, eyes jumping to his and for a moment he sees the real Amber. Her gratitude is real, and even if she is distorted and dark now, Dean sees the beauty of a younger sibling there, the same beauty and resolution that had cost people their lives when Sam had gone hunting for him when he was a demon. And as he looks at her he sees Sam down deep, how Sam could have been.

How Sam would have been if he hadn't taken lives and tortured demons, if he hadn't stepped on people and abandoned morals to save Dean and to keep him with him. So Dean lets Amber have his blood and have his live, and as his mind muddles and dims and wanders with the blood loss it makes sweet sense to him.

And it's _for Sammy_ as he slips away, slips away into a comforting freezing cold, numb ignorance as Amber gently strokes the side of his face and pushes his hair off his forehead. _Love you Sammy,_ it makes him think because it's so like him. _Imma miss you,_ he promises.

...

Sam's fists clench, his teeth grind together, the hair on the back of his neck stands on end and a shiver runs down his spine. He spins around to find a woman ghost behind him, her eyes dark and wide and sad, a red hot rope burn round her neck. She's floating a few inches off the ground, her hair waving in the air behind her, she's kind of ethereal.

"Amy," he says breathlessly, because god she's beautiful in the most terrible, mournful sort of way.

"Use the rope." She says simply, her eyes steady on his. "Use the rope Sam, Dean is already gone."

"Screw you." He hisses, turns his back on her and throws himself against the door trying to break in. He grunts in pain as Amy throws herself up against it and presses him down with her power, he can't see her over his shoulder but her voice is an icy whisper against his ear. The rope drenched in blood rising from the floor and Amy grabs it, gently jerking it over his head, tightening the sliding knot around his throat, the roughness of it scratching at the sensitive skin.

"Use it..." she urges, her voice cooing, washing over him like a siren's song..."Dean is already gone, join him Sammy."

 _Sammy_.

That was her mistake, only Dean got to call him that. He growls through clenched teeth and struggles beneath her. "I would know it if he were gone, and I. Don't. Know. It."

She screeches as he reaches back with the iron bar and slams it into her face. She retreats into the bedroom, slowly disappearing wailing and groaning scratching at her burning face. Sam straightens himself, head swimming and then looks to the bathroom door, rattling the handle.

"C'mon..." he mutters, while jerking the rope from around his neck. "Amber where are you, you bitch!? Big sis ain't doing so hot!"

He grins with satisfaction as Amber materializes through the bathroom door, her face pallid with rage. "Where is she?" She asks, voice low and trembling with energy and anger. "What have you done?" She screeches making a rush at Sam.

"Messed up her face a little," he confesses with a cold grin. "Just like I'm about to do to you..." he reaches into his pocket and tosses a fistful of salt into her face...Amber screams and rants but she can't keep her form with the salt repelling her unholy presence on earth, she disappears for a few moments at least. With both sisters gone Sam tuns the handle easily and opens the door to the bathroom.

Dean lies hands palms up in his lap, thighs of his jeans soaked with his blood. The cuts in his arms sliced deep, his flesh gaping, red, oozing blood. His eyes are hooded, not quite shut all the way and his skin is white as death. Sam can see the quick, shallow breaths jumping in his chest, the shivers shaking his body, his lips trembling.

Sam feels the blood drain from his face, his hand grasps the door frame so hard he's surprised the wood doesn't splinter. He slides in the blood as he falls to his knees beside Dean, gathering his big brother up against his chest immediately. Dean slides into his arms, his forehead resting easily against Sam's shirt cushioned collar bone.

"Dean, oh my god, Dean please, please don't..." he pleads a hand cupping the side of his face tenderly, his other hand feeling for a pulse in his neck.

"S'mmy?" Dean slurs, his eyes attempting to lift and catch a glimpse of his baby brother.

"Yeah, yeah, it's me," Sam nearly sobs with relief, "I'm right here, don't you go anywhere on me Dean, okay? I'm getting us out of here..."

Amber and Amy appear on the other side of the threshold and Dean whines under his breath, turning his face into Sam's chest, the younger Winchester tightens his arms around him protectively and growls deep in his chest at the sisters.

"Stay away from him," he hisses, eyes on Amber, her eyes terribly malevolent sending shivers down his spine thinking of what Dean must have endured at her hands, the thoughts and anger and self-loathing she'd forced into Dean's mind.

She cackles hovering slighting higher than Amy whose eyes are still sad but Sam knows she's just as much at fault here. "You don't have to kill yourself for us to use you." She laughs, as she and her sister advance crossing over the threshold and Sam chunks the iron bar he still holds in one fist at them.

The sisters jerk backwards and the bathroom door slams shut after them leaving the boys blessedly alone, though the screeches of fury from the other side aren't very comforting. Sam takes the moment to think but it's hard with Dean leaning into him laboring to breathe and stay conscious. His shivers only worsen as the temperature drops at alarming rates leaving them watching their breaths cloud the air.

Dean eyes are hooding, he's about to slip under and while he thinks it will be just sleep, the younger brother knows more than likely it would be sweet sweet oblivion, his body ushering him gently to permanent rest and quiet. Sam watches the door like a hawk, waiting for one of ghosts to show their transparent faces even as he thinks frantically he has to end this, end this now before Dean does slip away from him forever.

Then he sees it, his eyes lock onto it. Another person would have never noticed it, but to Sam it stood out because of who he was and because of who his brother was. It stood out to him as important and special, meaningful...meaningful enough to anchor someone's soul to earth.

There in the back of the door, even after all this time, he spots it because he's looking for it, because he knows it's got to be there, because he's seen it time and time again. There etched in the wood is _A+A_ and Sam's heart stops with the thought of their own mark carved into random motel room doors, into trees while out on hunts, into the impala and now into their home.

And somehow he knows, Sam just knows this is it. This is the tie. It's not the knife or the rope, or Amber's blood which is probably still staining this floor under the new tile recently put in. It's the joint love and devotion put into the sister's mark. _A+A_ etched deep into the wood, side by side, smiles shared, giggles echoing each other, pinky promises to never be apart.

And as Sam pulls himself to his feet, swaying with dizziness and the pain in his head, it's only Dean lying unconscious in a pool of his own freezing blood that gives Sam the will power to destroy the mark, their mark.

He's got nothing but his lighter so he flicks it open and holds it to the etching. The reaction is immediate. The walls crackle as they crystallize with ice, the mirror fogging up with the cold, the light bulb shatters and everything goes dark but for Sam's small flame of fire.

He can hear Amber and Amy screaming on the other side of the door and it's becoming so loud, his head feels as if it's about to burst. He falls to the floor pulling Dean back to him and dragging them into a corner, huddling his body over Dean as protection, wrapping his arms around him trying to shield him from the deafening noise.

Sam's tiny flame burns for a while over the surface of the door, and then the cold puts it out and they're plunged into darkness, but it has done it's job. Amy and Amber appear floating above the sink looking down on them, their bodily forms changing. Their skin back to a peachy cream, their eyes sparkling with life and happiness...the horrible wounds not gone, but simple scars; a sign of healing and resilience.

They're gone in the blink of an eye and the bitter cold fades with them. Sam chokes on relieved breaths, coughing into Dean's hair as he simply holds him close, even now can't let him go, can't leave him alone and vulnerable...can't take the chance he'll slip away, that Dean will be alone and slip away.

...

The EMTs hold Sam down as the ambulance bearing Dean's still body speeds away, he feels the prick of a needle on the inside of his elbow and everything goes soft and quieter around him. He can hear himself pleading, can feel the tears chasing each other down his cheeks, _please don't take him away from me, please I have to know he's okay, Dean.._.

It's all a little shadowy and hazy, the movements too sudden and bright for him to follow. He'd somehow gotten them down the stairs and out of the house and to the impala where he'd called 911. Dean silent and limp in his arms, his eyes shut, eyelashes resting delicately on china doll skin. He'd felt the tackiness of Dean's blood give between their skin as he was forcefully taken from his arms.

Even now he looks down to find his clothes and skin coated in the precious red. And he's starting to understand Amber more as he struggles against the people trying to help him, as he cries for Dean, god, he just wants to see him again, he just wants to feel him again, touch him again, say 'jerk' again...carve _S.W_. beside his _D.W_. again.

As he struggles and is held down, as he prays and nothing happens. As he asks and pleads and Dean doesn't return to him, Dean doesn't hold him, doesn't comfort him, doesn't brush tears away with his calloused fingertips and whisper, _just a bad dream lil brother, just a dream Sammy._

Then he understands Amber...then he wishes for another chance...wishes that rope was on the floor down at his feet waiting for him again.

...tbc

The torture is nearly over...I have enjoyed every second of it though;) REVIEW!?;):)

((Early posting for DearHart. I love you, my friend, thx for your support:):))


	9. Part 9

Part 9.

It's mostly dark, soft light shining on him from overhead. Sam smacks his lips trying to get rid of that nasty dry taste in his mouth from sleeping so long. The hospital. That's where he is, that's where he's just woken up. He vaguely remembers the nightmare of the EMTs taking Dean away from him, unconsciously fists his hand in his quilt.

Dean.

He sits up all too quickly, closes his eyes against the rush of nausea and dizziness, winces with the tug on his skin and turns to find an IV sunk into his arm. He runs a hand through his hair and then jerks the IV out, staunches the small flow of blood with some tissues. Spots his jeans sitting folded on the chair beside his bed (the chair usually filled with protective big brother) he shakes that thought from his head and slides his jeans on.

Knows Dean would be here if he could...in any way. And that's what's scaring Sam so bad, Dean wasn't there, everything was quiet and peaceful something life never was when Dean was around. He pads over to the door in his socked feet and glances through the blinds, checking to see if there are any hovering nurses.

The worry and guilt is a tight pull in his chest, a boulder crushing his heart. What if there was no Dean to go to? What if Dean was gone already...what if Sam really lost him this time? He can feel his big brother's dead weight even now in his arms, the unsteady, barely there pulse under his fingertips...the chill of his white skin...

Sam slips out of his door, his heart beating loud in his ears as he tries to find a floor plan, something to tell where Dean might be. His condition had been bad enough to earn him a place in the ICU, add the self inflicted wounds to the list of wounds Dean had been sporting and there was no way he hadn't been put under twenty-four surveillance.

 _If he's alive._

 _Shut up!_ Sam yells inwardly at himself as he walks down the dark, cool halls, reminding him cruelly of home. It's eerily quiet, but Sam's thankful for the silence and the absence of nosey nurses. He's followed by the sound of his own quiet footsteps, his heavy breaths because he's already worn out, he must have been worse off than he'd thought at first.

With a hand on the wall helping him keep upright, and the dizziness stabilized Sam manages to find the ICU. He slips in behind a nurse who's not paying much attention in the early morning hours. One quick survey of the large room lets him know which one is Dean. He would be only one alone.

Sam heart sinks into his feet at that, but quickens his footsteps. He arrives in the doorway out of breath, eyes wide and uncertain. His big brother lays still and pale on the hospital sheets cover by two thick blankets, _good_ , he thinks, _Dean gets cold easily_. He's wearing an oxygen mask, his arms wrapped in stark white bandages and god, Sam doesn't mind them in the least...at least they weren't those long, gaping knife wounds.

"Dean," Sam whispers, walking to the side of his bed, his fingertips just barely skimming over the arch of his knuckles. And he swallows thickly, tears blurring his vision thinking of how close he'd come to losing Dean, the evidence in front of him. But his heart is beating constantly, the beeping in Sam's ears, and if he could bear to look away from Dean's face he'd see it jumping up and down on the heart monitor.

He collapses into the chair by Dean's bed, nearly unconscious of himself threading his fingers into Dean's limp ones. His shocked and grateful and so overwhelmed when Dean shifts in his rest with the contact...turns towards Sam a little.

"I'm so sorry Dean," he whispers huskily, the tears veiling his words in love, sorrow and relief. "I shoulda been there, I could have stopped you...I'm sorry."

He rests his forehead against the white bandages on his brother's arms, lets his upper body melt into Dean's mattress. The tightening of Dean's fingers around his makes him turn his head and look up into his resting face. A tired smile turns his lips up, "Be right here De, not going anywhere..." he whispers before slipping off to sleep, because now he can rest, now his job is done, the case truly closed now that Dean was going to be okay, the sisters gone from his mind along with their dark influence, and the brothers, with their lust for life, reunited.

...

Sam wakes with fingers in his hair. Strong, calloused, familiar fingers. His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he struggles to return to the waking world, lets out a sleepy sigh as he opens his eyes and is met with Dean's vibrant green one's sparkling as they look down on him fondly.

There's bags under them, more wrinkles than usual around them but they're open and they are most assuredly Dean's. There's no words between them, Sam simply takes the opportunity to study Dean's face, and his big brother lets him, just looks back with a tired smile arching his lips and his fingers still in Sam's hair.

"You look like crap." Sam says softly, though the scared, relieved break in his voice kind of gives him away.

Fingers lift and brush hair from Sam's eyes and Dean's smile doesn't go sardonic like usual, just sweetens. "You too Sammy, you 'kay?"

Sam nods, the catch in his throats making him abandon speech. His eyes skitter away from Dean's thinking of how it felt to have his brother jerked from his arms and to be held down powerless to follow, powerless to know what had happened...he'd thought Dean was gone...in those minutes he was awake after the ambulance had taken Dean away he'd thought his brother was dead.

"I'm fine," he whispers, doesn't pick up his head, doesn't release Dean where they're fingers are still tightly merged together. "I thought you were dead," he whispers, eyes falling closed again as he tries to drown all those memories out with the here and now of Dean warm and real and close. Dean's face inevitably softens as Sam looks back up to his older brother.

"What are you doin' in here, anyways?" Dean asks, a fond smirk on his lips, fingers on Sam's scalp, threading through the silky strands of chestnut hair. "You nearly scared the nurse to death, she didn't know how you got in here."

"I thought you were dead," Sam simply repeats himself, and Dean's fingers skitter gently across the bruising on the side of his little brother's face, ending with a barely there tap on the tip of his nose.

"Sh," Dean urges in a whisper, a sad old look in his eyes but the sweetest and strongest of loves in his gaze too, _forget about it, don't dwell on it, I never wanted to scare you like that, I'm sorry, I'm not leaving you, never leaving you_. "I'm not."

...

It's a couple of days before Sam manages to get Dean out of the hospital, he picks Dean up at the door in the impala and his brother slips into the passenger seat with a sour look on his face, but doesn't even start to argue with Sam about who's driving. Simply pulls his coat tighter around him, his blood still thin, and lets his head fall against the back of the seat to catch some real sleep.

Baby had more often than not been Dean's bed, and her familiar rumble worked like a charm to put him into deep peaceful sleep. Sam drives straight through back to Kansas, waking Dean to make him eat and his older brother looks better, his face finally less white, the bags under his eyes less black...his eyes more green.

Sam knew what it felt like to be possessed, to have your mind attacked and taken away from you. He knows it takes a few days to really be yourself again, to really know for sure that you're _you_. Dean is quieter but Sam doesn't bother him, allows him the space he needs, but that doesn't mean he lets him drift, he keeps Dean present with him as they talk about everything but nothing and Sam can see Dean getting more and more convinced...he is himself.

And Sam knows what's bothering Dean, knows Dean is asking himself, _how much of that was Amy and Amber, and how much of it was me? Would I really kill myself?_ Sam knows the answer, but knows Dean has to figure it out for himself; he wouldn't believe anyone else.

Dean watches the flat plains of Kansas roll by, watches the trees as they cast sunny stripes over his skin and Sam looks over to him in the quiet, the little smile pulling at Dean's lips as he turns at that moment to share a look with Sam... _can't wait to be home_.

He just wants to be home. Doesn't want recognition or reward, doesn't want compensation for the wounds still healing in his wrists, or the confusion and doubt now wracking his already shaky self confidence. Simply wants to be home...and wants to be home with Sam. And maybe it's got something to do with the sunlight, or Dean's peaceful smile or the fact that Dean is, in fact, _alive_ but...

...god, Dean's beautiful.

Sam sends Dean on into the bunker as he grabs their bags, and the takeout they'd picked up. When he comes into the library with the food he finds his older brother standing over the table, his fingers sliding over their initials etched there. His face unreadable and Sam's heart stops wondering what he's thinking. Does he want to get rid of them so that they don't end up like Amy and Amber? Does he regret making them, does he regret the bond he has with Sam, does it scare him?

"What is it?" Sam asks, coming to stand beside him, setting the food down.

"Just...thinking about our legacy again." His big brother muses, the wood cool and smooth against his skin except for the part they had scarred with their mark.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I mean, do you think we could end up like Amy and Amber?" His question in quiet, the fear is there...but it's more than that, it's mostly just curiosity. Sam cocks his head to one side trying to understand Dean.

"I guess anything is possible." Sam says carefully.

Dean shoots him a wry look that's says _I know you got more than that_.

Sam shrugs with a little laugh, "I think when we go Dean, we're gonna be ready for all this to be over...and as for becoming ghosts I can think of a lot better ways to spend my afterlife, especially an afterlife with you, than killing people."

Dean laughs. A full bellied, rumbling in his chest laugh and Sam smiles with it, watching the way the happiness makes the wrinkles in Dean's face show themselves. And as Dean drifts his fingers over their carved initials one last time Sam sees him _know_ himself again.

Sam sees him realize that it was all Amy and Amber, he would never slit his wrists alone in a bathroom...and Sam doesn't think about other circumstances...doesn't think about Dean bleeding out over his own cold corpse. But Sam can see where Dean finds himself again, a fighter.

The man who stands for what's right, the man who hangs onto family like religion. A man who loves better than Angels, a man who hates deeper than demons...a man who understands _life_. He doesn't give up on life, they don't give up on life...and they most certainly do not give up on each other.

That's the man Sam wants his name besides that's the man Sam wants to leave is mark with...that's his brother. The brother he hopes and prays will leave many more D.W.'s beside his S.W.'s. So maybe their legacy didn't really matter to anyone but themselves, but saving lives was their legacy none the less... _I will never not save you, please don't ask that of me_...Sam's legacy to Dean, Dean's legacy to Sam.

As they dig into their supper before Sam forces Dean off to bed, they clink the necks of their beer bottles together in a toast...

 _Our legacy_.

THE END.

...

ALL DONE! So relieved but also sad to say goodbye...thank you so much for reading and going on this mini adventure with me! LAST CHAPTER SO... REVIEW?!;););)

Huge thanks to all my readers and reviewers...you guys have no idea how much you mean to me! Who's excited for the new episode? MEHH! :):)


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